Dead Men Bleed

I See Dead Men

There's a dozen men inside the small bar. I grabbed a small shot of whiskey, leaving my mask hidden on my lap.
I sat at a table in the back near the long table. My SCAR 17 is propped next to my chair. My shotgun is facing the wall. Their voices are at a low. Little shitters are secretive.
"I hear there's a new one out now." One guy tells the group.
Obviously, they mean me.
"He's not important. He's just one man. And he's disorganized. He dunno where to hit us."
In honesty, he's right. I stumbled on these guys rather than stalk them.
"You're right." Another agrees. "Let's get down to it then. O'Neil has a new batch of girls. The price is $4,500 a piece. Ten girls. $45,000. Unless you have compensation."
A man at the head of the table broke out two briefcases. They passed it to a young, brown haired O'Neil at the other end of the table.
O'Neil flipped the case open. I could see over his shoulder. God knows how many kilos of coke rested before him. He slipped a pocket knife out of his jacket pouch on his breast. The blade clicked out. He poked the bag open, slipping his hand in and gathering a pinch of the drug. He dabbed the pinch on his tongue. He smacked his lips and confirmed with a nod.
"The girls are out in the kitchen. Help yourself."
Fuckin' sick. The six that bought the girls went in the kitchen, already hard for the unsuspecting women in the back. The last six dispersed. Three pulled a stool up for a drink at the bar. Three still sat at the table.
O'Neil laughed at a comment one of his goons said. I was stalking him until he saw me.
"Oi!" He called out. I turned away, pretending I hadn't seen a thing. "Nah, nah I saw ya fella."
Heavy foot steps boomed toward my direction.
"Got a problem with a little business here?" He asked, pulling a chair right beside me.
"I have 99 problems. Which one would you like to know first?"
He chuckled. I couldn't tell if I was legitimately funny to him or he was baffled by my answer. Either way, I was uneasy.
"I'd like to know the one about me and my business, ya smart ass."
He stared at me, patiently waiting.
"Well? You gonna answer me?"
I kept my hand close to the SCAR on the floor.
"I never said I had a problem with your business. Are you threatened that I heard about how you let six guys get their sick kicks from six girls in the kitchen for some cocaine?"
He smirked at me, like a scholar smiles at the stupidity of ignorance.
"Ten girls, actually. And I don't like people snooping where they shouldn't be."
I'll admit, this was pretty fun.
"Let's be honest here. Answer this fairly. Dirtroad has how many police forces? Two, at the most? If I decided to stroll down to the station and tell everyone there what I saw, what the fuck are they gonna do?"
He looked around. His face scrunched with focus.
"I'll tell you what. Not a damn thing. Why? Because they just don't give a shit anymore. So, you tell me the sense of me going to careless and crooked cops when they'll be of no use and I'll die anyway. You tell me that. So, there's no reason to get a stick up your ass for a guy who is just curious."
O'Neil was silent. He bought every word of passion. He laughed and slapped my back. I joined in with him in the hysteria.
"Shit! You're so right! I'm from Wisconsin. I did shit loads of deals there. Heroine, weed, you name it, I did it. Every deal I was like a friggin' bobblehead. I was nervous. Cops are friggin' everywhere and I don't wanna go back to fuckin' prison so I was on edge. Here? Shit is like Canada. I can do things with peace! God, you're right about that!"
We shared a good laugh, wiping away small tear drops that snuck out from the corners of our eyes.
"Dirtroad is literally paradise man!" I yelled out in the middle of the laugh.
He slapped my back again, howling with glee.
"Thank God for Avirace man! Dude is a miracle worker to get me down here!"
Wrong name.
Bam!!!
The bullet ripped through his hip like a sword would go through whipped cream. He yelped in pain, falling off his chair. I flipped the table over and fired a few rounds at the trio at the bar. Luckily, they hadn't gathered their bearings before I planted a barrage of bullets into their heads. Bloodied craters exploded open as the bullets disfigured their faces.
The three at the table whipped out .44 Magnums from their jackets. Boom!! My heart skipped ten beats as I felt the bullet narrowly avoid my ear with a whistle.
I quickly ducked, using the table as a shield. O'Neil shrieked beside me as bullets penetrated through the wood shield. I felt a sharp sting sear across my bicep. I was scraped. Not too badly, though.
Lifting my head was suicide. I peeped through one of the bullet holes. They remained in their positions, guns poised to put me down. The other six hadn't arrived yet. Which is just perfect.
I wiggled the nuzzle into the bullet hole and fired. The recoil pounded against my shoulder as I fired blindly. Click click click. The mag was empty. Shit. Carefully, I pulled the sawed-off shotgun out of the sheathe. My ears were like radars, carefully tuning in for sound. I heard slight groaning sounds. Had I hit one? Only one way to find out.
Cautiously, I peeked out. Two were on the ground. One was gone. Steadily, I rose up to my feet. My arms trembled from the tension. Sweat streamed from my forehead as I tiptoed to the bodies. I faintly caught the sight of wounds on their mid-sections.
"RAAHH!!!"
My shotgun was slapped from my grip. A fist rammed into the bridge of my nose. Before I even felt the pain of the first blow, another one drove into my ribs.
I doubled over, gasping for air. My attacker threw me up into an upright posture. His thick hands wrapped around my neck as he pushed me against the wall.
My head felt like a balloon with too much air. Ready to pop.
This was a bad spot. I punched and scratched at his arms, but he was stubborn. He wiggled his around as I reached for his eyes.
I struggled in trying to force my frame off the wall.
My eyes bulged out. I longed for air. I looked down at his feet and stomped at his knee. He barked out in pain. The pressure alleviated. Using that, I side stepped with him still holding on. I skated back, tripping down and dragging him with me. He pressed his hands back down with his juggernaut like strength. I was in position.
I positioned my legs to bend across his arms with my feet a little under his neck. He must've realized my trick because he began to try to bring his hands back into retreat. But, I held on tight. I managed to reach around his head and pull down. SNAP!
His elbows broke like pencils from the pressure of the pull.
"AAAGGHH!!!" He screeched as I shoved him off of me. He was good, but not as good. I snapped to my feet and grabbed the shotgun. The man wailed in pain like a wounded beast. I aimed at his head and pulled the trigger. His head practically exploded into a crimson mess. His face was completely obliterated by the shotgun blast. Flesh and blood erupted like lava from a volcano. The thick wave of blood splashed over me. God that was gross.
I went toward the back and looked through the miniscule, window circle. No girls, no guys. Not a damn thing.
A whimper wheezed out from O'Neil. He dragged his wounded body toward the door, leaving a ruby trail behind him.
Then, I had an epiphiny. I grabbed my damaged mask off the floor. Maybe O'Neil would have some use.